AIMEE: I clear out the bookshelf that housed my millions of bridal magazines, facing the brutal reality that now I’m just another old married lady. That’s when my email inbox flashes with a new message telling me that 660 photograph proofs are up and ready. Moments later, I learn that the video will be finished in two weeks. I fantasize about curling up with a big bowl of popcorn and settling in for a night of watching me. Yes, these things are self-indulgent, but they’re also necessary to soothe wedding withdrawal. That’s why they were invented.
Good bye, Martha. Thanks for the memories.
“What’s more relaxing,” Brian asks on the commute to our first day back to work, “the subway platform at 86th street or the beach in Anguilla?” “Ummm, I’m going to have to go with …. ANGUILLA!” I answer. It’s our new game called “Denial.”
Yes, the honeymoon is over. But newlywedhood isn’t too shabby: Brian is micromanaging the thank-you-note-writing process like a master, and has set up a comprehensive spreadsheet that incorporates all key facts about the giver, the gift and present status of the note. I’m writing the notes. Our apartment looks better than the Bloomies home department with fantastic china, bedding and other fancy objets arriving every day.
But the best antidote of all comes in the form of Chinese take-out on Friday night and a weekend walk together through Central Park: Brian and I are HAPPY. So do I think marriage will be as fun as that big bash I threw on April 22? I do, I do.